


The Scourge of Manhattan

by NobodysBloodyPrincess



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chronic Illness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Moral Ambiguity, Serial Killers, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28165944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobodysBloodyPrincess/pseuds/NobodysBloodyPrincess
Summary: Life loves kicking Steve around, but despite this he’s always come up on top. Even with everything he’s gone through, he’s managed to build himself a happy life with his partner Tony. But when a mysterious illness threatens Tony’s wellbeing, Steve will have to find a new way to both seek revenge on life and deal with the rage.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 44
Collections: Stony's Sad Secret Santa





	The Scourge of Manhattan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [veryvincible](https://archiveofourown.org/users/veryvincible/gifts).



> For the Stony's Sad Secret Santa. ironmanwithaplan I really hope you liked it! This thing took a life of its own. 
> 
> WARNING: Please read the tags! There’s some explicit descriptions of violence in this fic. There is also an explicit description of stabbing so if this is a trigger, don’t read!  
> Despite all this, there is a happy ending and there’s lots of love, so enjoy.

Tony shakes the half empty milk carton in his hand. There’s enough left for a smoothie and coffee but there won’t be any left for tomorrow. 

“Babe, could you please grab some milk on the way back from the gym?”

There’s heavy steps on the floorboards, moving left… moving right. Getting ready. Tony wonders if he’s been heard. 

“Yeah sure. Regular or half skimmed?”

The reply is closer, signaling the early morning routine to be nearly over. 

“Whatever you want.”

He steps back, milk in hand and lets the refrigerator door snap closed. He’s turning back to the counter, thoughts already on the smoothie recipe ‘add two cups of almonds…’ when a large, warm hand stops him cold. He feels the hand dip beneath his boxers, inside the crack between his butt cheeks and feels a finger run over the swollen rim. 

“You’re sore.”

“Yeah small wonder, we went at it what? Four times in like ten hours.”

Tony can feel the smirk being pressed to the back of his neck, feels the soft smack that is suddenly slapped on a sore butt cheek. 

“Steeeve!”

The complaint is equal parts pain, pleasure and reproach. He’s accepted that he’s going to be sitting on his foam donut for the rest of the day but he’s not thrilled about it. 

“Sorry babe, you’re just too delicious.”

To emphasize his point, Steve parts his lips and sucks in tender skin from Tony’s shoulder… adding two purple marks to the collection already painted on his skin. 

“If you keep this up, you’re going to be late for work.”

But Tony can already tell the warning falls on deaf ears. It’s in the way Steve is already pinning him in place with his hands, in the graze of his chest against Tony’s back. It’s in the urgency of his mouth and the predatory heat he’s giving off. 

“Fuck it… I’m the boss.”

Somewhere in the frenzy of lips and tongues, Tony wonders whether he’ll be able to sit down today at all. 

**

_It’s difficult to establish a pattern at first._

_Like crocuses emerging from the snow, the first bodies turn up in the spring. They’re victims known to the police so their sudden demise is nothing suspicious. They deduce that the normal culprits are to blame: Gangs._

_Yes, the lacerations on their bodies are peculiar, and yes… it’s strange that they weren’t shot._

_But they were well known. They had enemies. Anyone could have done it._

***

There’s always an effervescence whenever Steve walks into a space. His presence releases a scurry of energy that sends workers into panicked activity. 

It delights Steve… this power he has over people who work for him. 

Mr. Rogers runs a tight ship. He likes to know everything going on behind the scenes, likes to know his staff… have a good sense of what they do, when they do it and how they do it. He’s not an easy boss, even he’ll admit to that, but he’s also not an unreasonable person. 

“Good morning Steve. I received the account reports you requested yesterday, they’re in your inbox.”

“Good morning Sharon. Thanks, I’ll look them over.”

The smile she offers is pure professionalism but the bite in her eyes is all spite. Sharon is Peggy’s secretary, but despite this she often ends up helping him more than she likes.

“Sharon, could you please set up a meeting with Mary? Sometime today.”

“Mary from HR?”

“Yes. I think we need a new policy on working remotely. The current one is **obviously** not working.”

“Ok, I’ll set it up.” 

Sharon may be good at masking her disdain, but Steve knows people much too well to fall for it. As soon as Sharon is out of his office he plots down a reminder. 

‘ _Talk to Mary about hiring a personal secretary. Preferably someone over fifty_.’ 

He’s always had good luck with older secretaries. They’re usually accommodating, hardworking and are over the age where special accommodation for children is required. He also likes giving Tony the peace of mind.

With that taken care of, Steve opens up his computer and begins the daily grind. 

He texts Tony throughout the day. Small messages… some just for support. Tony sends them back with gusto, heart emojis and tired emojis and a few peaches with a crying face that stir a slight burn of guilt in Steve. Very few things in life ignite real emotion in him, but Tony is one of them. 

_‘Are you home baby?’_ He texts. 

_‘Yep. Hurts to sit’_

_‘I’ll make it up to you’_

‘☺’

His Tony never complains. Not about being cold, not about sex, he’s not even picky about food. His Tony is meticulously organized and so brilliant he puts everyone else to shame. It took Steve a while to get his head around Tony’s job, but now that he understands it… it fascinates him. As an Environmental Engineer, Tony gets to use his incredible mind to get around the laws of physics and even nature itself. 

Steve couldn’t be prouder. If only his staff worked as hard as his Tony did, he’d be a billionaire by now. 

Not that Steve does badly for himself… on the contrary. 

He plans to draw Tony a bath today… pick up some dinner… get the milk he asked for. Not letting the thought slip, Steve grabs the office phone and dials a well known combination. 

“Sharon, I’ll need you to pick up a few things before you leave for the day. I’ll email you the list.”

“Sure Steve.” 

She hates him. Of this he’s sure, but he enjoys her tightly controlled anger. Peggy is due back in two days, after which he’ll be able to relax a bit more. She’s always been better at dealing with the everyday staff annoyances than him, so he usually leaves it up to her. She’s been away working on closing a deal in Norway, it’s going to be their biggest one yet and he can’t wait to get his hands on the paperwork. While Peggy may be the charm of this operation, Steve is the shark. 

But predators are not always good at knowing when they themselves are being hunted…

Which is why exactly seventy-six hours later, Steve finds himself blindsided. 

There’s a crowd forming outside of Margaret Carter’s office. They stick to the sides of the office covered by drywall, like rats stick to the side of buildings. There’s shouting coming from inside, Steve Rogers the company President (until about an hour ago) is shouting himself into a meltdown. In the week that follows, the employees will gossip amongst themselves about that day’s events. They will retell the story of how Peggy Carter seized control of the company from right under Steve Rogers’s nose, using tactics no one expected. They’ll tell it as if it were the liberation of a country from the rule of a dictator, and they’ll rejoice at their new (benevolent) management with gusto.

Currently however, the employees are merely staying outside the line of fire. They can hear Steve shouting “HOW DARE YOU!” and “HOW COULD YOU?” with notable repetition but then ten minutes in, it’s all mostly over. Steve signs a document that Peggy hands him and he storms out of the office like a twister that’s done tearing up a barn. 

That’s how Steve Roger’s presidency of SHIELD Inc. comes to an end. 

There’s a rage bubbling inside him as he marches through the streets of Manhattan. His muscles are coiled with tension, his face flushed and tense. Instinctively, people move away from him as they pass him but nothing comes within Steve’s vision. 

He should go home… talking to Tony will calm him… Tony will understand…

But he can’t go home, not now. Not when there’s so much pressure building inside his chest. If he goes home now, he will end up picking a fight. He refuses to be like his piece-of-shit father who would come home, angry and tired, to take it out on him and his mom. He won’t be like Tony’s father either, the fucker who would drink himself into not remembering the punches he threw at his son. 

While Steve Rogers is all about Manhattan now, he didn’t start out that way. He’s Bushwick born and bred and like any good 90’s Bushwick boy, he knows where to go looking for trouble…

And he needs to get there now.

The cabbie doesn’t even blink when Steve tells him where they’re going. He thinks about that for a moment… how gentrification is touching every corner of this city. Gentrification is like the silent invader, he thinks to himself, the one you don’t expect until one day you wake up and everything costs three times as much and everything’s changed. 

He thinks of the way Peggy slid the contract to him. 

_“I’m being very generous Steve, but I want you completely out.”_

She invaded his company, stole it right from under him and then made him take a plea deal. Fuck Peggy Carter and fuck gentrification. 

Life has never been kind to Steve. It gave him an abusive father, killed his Ma of cancer much too early, made him skinny and weak while young so he’d get picked on endlessly at school. Life taught him to always fight for every chance, taught him to work harder than anyone, to hit harder than anyone. Life taught him how to be mean. 

Tony’s the only real, good thing he’d ever had… his Tony who’s all goodness and sweetness and kindness. 

He tries to be good for Tony. Tries to be a better man even. 

It must work, because Tony’s still there. He’s still happy, and funny and brilliant. He still tells Steve that he loves him every single day and still listens to Steve ramble on about how stupid everyone is. 

Tony is his one good thing in a world of shit… which is why Steve is not going home now. 

He throws a fifty at the cabbie and is jumping out the instant they’re in Bushwick. He gets a few looks, (4pm on a Thursday wearing a suit), but not nearly as many as he would have gotten twenty years earlier. Slowly, he feels himself uncoil. 

The streets he’s walking on look the same as they’ve always had. They’re still much too rough for the hipsters, still shady enough for the drug dealers and bookies and everything in between to do business off of. It takes him a bit, but after a few turns he eventually finds the bar he’s looking for- The Hydra. 

The seedy looking bar has been around since the second world war, and it looks it. The air is both stale and permeated in cigarette smoke, the lights are low, the floors sticky and the walls look downright dusty. Nothing’s changed… right down to the heavily scarred man that’s watching his every move. 

“Johann.”

“Steve! As I live and breathe. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Johann Schmidt, a Vietnam War vet, looks the very image of a movie villain. According to the story, he’d lost his good looks after a grenade went off in front of him during the war, but Steve doubts it. 

“I’ve been keeping busy.”

His glassy, red tinted eyes look over the expensive suit and tie. “So I can see. What brings you here?” 

“I’m itching for a fight. Got anything on the books for tonight?”

“You’re in luck!” Johann’s smile pulls at the scars on his cheeks, making it look like a painful grimace. “I’ve got something at 7.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Don’t you even want to know who it’s against?”

The look Steve answers with makes Johann snort out a laugh.

“Good old Stevie. Doesn’t give a damn as long as he gets to beat someone up and make a buck off it.”

“Still the same cut?”

“Yeah. I’ll even bump it 10% just because it’s you.”

They shake on it. Old-style. Deep inside Steve has always liked Johann, liked his no bullshit approach to the business and liked that he keeps his ass out of trouble. 

“Want a drink?”

Steve looks at the old wooden bar, the dusky mirror behind the bottles, the questionable bar stools. 

“Sure.”

The hours pass slowly. He drinks for most of it but paces himself well… he’s no rookie after all. He’s been street fighting since he was fifteen. The training for it is what kick-started his growth spurt, what got his muscles to fill out… what kept food on the table when his Ma got sick. 

But it’s been over a decade since he was last here. Not since he met Tony… 

A decade ago, his company had still been a start-up and Tony, just a client contact… how things changed. Now his company is no longer his and Tony is his life partner… his better half… the love of his fucking life. 

His phone rings. It’s five thirty, Tony must be wondering where he is, but Steve doesn’t want to pick up the phone in this place. Instead he takes it out, watches it ring… waits until it’s done. Then he starts texting. 

_‘I’m not doing well babe. Something happened at work, I need to get it all out of my system. Should be home by 10’_

_‘Ok. Please be safe. I love you’_

There’s no ‘what happened?’ no ‘get home now,’ no demand for an immediate explanation… just understanding. Just love. Because that’s who Tony is. That’s how amazing his Tony is. 

‘ _I love you too baby’_

Tony had a black eye when Steve first met him. He’d been wearing sunglasses indoors to cover it, but Steve made him take them off. That same day Steve beat up Tony’s ex-boyfriend within an inch of his life. The bastard ended up in the ICU, too afraid to tell anyone what had actually happened. A week later, Tony moved in with Steve. They’ve been together ever since. 

“No one’s ever loved me as much as you.” Tony tells him sometimes. He always says it with such wonder in his voice, as if he can’t understand it. 

Steve should really go home now… go home to Tony…

“Steve, it’s time.” Johann looks almost excited, grinning, with two thugs by his side.

He nods, puts his phone away and gets up. 

***

_By bodies four and five, the pattern is irrefutable._

_The killer is precise, controlled… but rageful. They profile him as a white male, between 25-35 years old with a long history of violence but socially well adjusted enough not to stand out. The NYPD is abuzz with the case, forensics sweep every inch of dead skin, every splatter of blood._

_But the killer is careful so they still don’t have enough to ID him._

_The media dubs him “The Avenger” because all his kills are criminals. He bleeds out drug dealers, gang members, bookies and thieves. He’s meticulous, goal oriented and so goddamn careful…_

_Only one thing is certain- The Avenger is not going to stop._

***

Steve Rogers is on top of the fucking world. 

He has a cracked rib, a sprained ankle, a black eye, a bloody mess of knuckles, more bruises than anyone can see… and he’s king of the fucking world. 

He even has ten thousand dollars sitting pretty in his pant pocket. 

The other man’s got a broken leg, jaw and arm but nothing Johann’s docs can’t patch up. Two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle reduced to a fucking seal on the floor.

The guy, Vic, had been fighting to win, but Steve… he’d been fighting life itself. Every kick, punch and hit was not for Vic, no, it was retaliation for every shitty thing that’d happened to him since birth. Tonight, Steve’s finally gotten a little of his pride back. 

It’s close to nine when he catches a cab. “Hospital?” asks the cabbie, looking him over. 

Steve chuckles. “No, home.”

He gives the cabbie $100 bucks and practically bounces onto the streets of Manhattan. He keeps some weight off his ankle but it doesn’t even bother him as he climbs up the stairs to their apartment. 

Pulling out the key, Steve unlocks the door and walks in.

**

“Stay still… there’s blood in your hair.” Tony’s hands are firm against his scalp. He works in a thick lather, scrubbing the hair with a little more force than is strictly necessary. 

“I don’t think it’s my blood.”

“The blood doesn’t care Steve. It’s still caked on. Jesus what did you do? Bathe in the stuff?”

“I might have broken the guy’s nose.”

Vic is taller than Steve, it’s possible he may have head butted him on the nose, broken it and caused a blood faucet to pour out. Everything goes in free-style street fights after all. 

“I still can’t believe you went street fighting… and at your age!”

“I’m only thirty-five!”

“Exactly!”

Steve can’t help himself, he throws his head back and laughs. The exertion sends a shockwave of pain from Steve’s cracked rib but the sound of it relaxes Tony’s brow. 

“For what it’s worth, I won’t be going back there again. The bookie wasn’t happy I was able to beat his prize bull. Told me it was a good night for business but it wasn’t going to be repeated.”

“What if they do want you to fight again Steve? Those people are dangerous, they can’t be trusted!”

It’s Tony’s worry that finally snaps Steve out of nonchalance. He looks at his partner, his love, his life and sees the worry in those big brown eyes. He knows Tony is already thinking of a million possible outlandish outcomes; of some bookie blackmailing Steve into more fighting, of a mob boss beating down their door for retribution. 

He’d told Tony about his past, told him everything and yet Tony’s untainted image of Steve is unshakable. 

“Hey, sweetheart you listen to me. No one’s coming after me and Johann would never try to get me back in. Besides, you know I have connections.”

‘Connections’ is actually Bucky Barnes. Steve knows that it’s the mention of his high-ranking NYPD Detective best friend which relaxes Tony. One word from Steve and Bucky would make a good dent in the street fighting gambling community. 

“You could’ve gotten hurt worse than you...”

Steve runs swollen knuckles over Tony’s left cheek, still smooth despite the prickle of evening stubble.

“I’m sorry.”

Ribs wrapped, hands soothed and an ice-pack on an ankle, Steve finally sits down to eat. Over a bowl of pasta, he tells Tony about Peggy’s betrayal, about his company… about the rage. He’s calm enough to enjoy Tony’s shocked outrage on his behalf, soothed enough to bathe in Tony’s understanding. 

By the time they finally curl up in bed together, skin against skin… the rage is gone. 

Last time Steve was unemployed, he was also starving. 

Unemployment this time around is remarkably different. For starters, he awakens sometime around noon to the sound of Tony on a conference call in the living room and the distinct smell of coffee in the air. He moves his ankle… is pleased to discover that he can stand on it. Sure, he won’t be able to work out for a few weeks (especially with his rib), but he’s confident that soon he’ll be back to himself.

Half an hour later, he wobbles into the kitchen and pours himself a tall cup of coffee before sitting on a stool. From here he can hear Tony’s conference call, can hear Darcy’s distinct high voice as she attempts to walk Tony through some upcoming deadlines. They bicker back and forth, teasing each other… being friendly. 

Steve’s never been teased by a co-worker, least of all an employee. His professional relationships are strictly professional, but that’s not how it is for Tony. Tony’s friends are also his coworkers and it makes for an interesting dynamic which seems incredibly complicated to Steve. 

Before Tony, Steve used to think that there must be something wrong with him… something missing. Something that made people not want to get close… not want to be his friend. 

But not anymore…

Steve sees the moment Tony finally spots him in the kitchen. He gets to witness the delight that fills his lover’s face and the smile that breaks through. He also sees the exact moment Tony remembers Steve’s injuries.

‘What. The. Hell. Are. You. Doing. Up.’ Tony’s glare says.

Steve smiles, tries to make it seem sheepish… cute… innocent. 

Tony doesn’t buy it. 

“Darcy, I’mma have to call you back. Steve twisted his ankle yesterday and now he’s being dumb.” 

“Ouch! No prob boss. I’ll just shoot you an email with the rest.”

“Thanks Darce”

The call ends, Tony sets his laptop back on the coffee table and a stern look affixes to his features. 

“You were supposed to tell me when you woke up so I could help you to the bathroom. Why didn’t you do that?”

“Because it’s not as bad as it looks! Putting weight on it isn’t bothering me that much and as long as I avoid putting pressure on my side, I’m fine!”

“You’re ‘fine’? Did you even look in the mirror this morning?”

It’s not until that very instant that Steve remembers the black eye. He’s honestly had so many over the years that his own reflection didn’t register it as a concern. He must succeed in looking sheepish because with a sigh, the fight leaves Tony.

“Honestly baby, I’m just worried about you.”

“I’m sorry.”

And he is. Steve is sorry for worrying his love, but he isn’t sorry about the attention it’s getting him. During work hours Tony’s sole focus is his computer, he can ignore raging fires, street sirens, loud music, but not a hurt Steve. 

“It’s ok, just try not to hurt yourself more. Do you want me to make you an omelette?”

“I can make it myself, you’re in the middle of work.”

“Naw, I already warned them I’ll be offline most of the week. They know how to escalate things if needed.”

In an instant Tony is in the kitchen, close enough to Steve that he can reach out, grab hold of his wrist and pull him in between Steve’s thighs. Tony goes willingly, his body pliant…warm against Steve’s chest. 

“I love you sweetheart.”

From this close, Steve can catch the sweet look in Tony’s eyes. 

“Yeah?”

“More than life itself.”

A tiny smirk works its way through Tony’s lips. But instead of answering he leans in to press his forehead against Steve’s.

“Please don’t scare me like that again ok? Seeing you walk through the door all bloodied and hurt was pretty awful.”

“I’ll try not to.”

With his track record, it’s the only promise he feels he can keep. 

Leaning forward, Steve captures Tony’s mouth. It’s a soft touch of lips, a wet drag of moisture that tastes like coffee. Just as teeth come in to play, Tony turns his head in a specific way that unfortunately pokes at Steve’s bruised cheekbone. The wince it elicits stops Tony cold. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Nothing hurts when you kiss me.”

Saying that always causes Tony to make a certain face, a lovestruck mixture of ‘yeah right’ and adoration that never fails to make Steve feel light hearted. 

“So, got any plans for the next couple of weeks?” Long, tender fingers run through Steve’s hair, front to back… front to back. It’s distracting enough that Steve can’t remember how he ended up here. 

“Nope…”

“I’m sure we can come up with something.”

Steve’s hungry grin is all the reply he needs. 

But Steve Rogers has never been good at staying still for long. The more inactive he is… the more the unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach grows. It’s hard to pinpoint what exactly causes it, all Steve knows is that it’s an affliction since childhood. It’s what compelled him to get into fights at school… what compels him to act the way he’s acting now. 

Logically Steve understands that he is overreacting. He sees the ‘kid’ in his bike gear, the smell of sweat clinging to him and knows the boy was just trying to deliver the order as quickly as possible. He also knows that his miso soup leaking onto his tempura is not a crisis… and yet…

“How could you possibly have messed this up? This is not a difficult job! It just requires a little care, that’s all!”

  
“Sorry.”

“You ain’t sorry at all you little shit! And look! The bag is fucking drenched!”

Steve paints an intimidating sight standing like this; red faced, tight lipped… coiled. Finally the kid’s self preservation instincts make him back away until he’s far enough to dash down the building stairs like a man who’s seen a ghost. 

“Little shit.” Mumbles Steve and closes the front door. 

“Everything ok?!” 

“Yeah baby! We just got a bad delivery guy. The miso soup leaked all over the boxes.”

“That’s ok, just bring it to the sink and I’ll assess the damage!”

Steve wants to reply with ‘Why bother? It’s all ruined’ but instead he does as told. Then he watches, amazed, as Tony manages to salvage a few tempura pieces and adds the soggy ones to the fried noodles. 

He’s seen Tony fix things thousands of times before and yet it always amazes him. 

“You’re a miracle worker.”

“This hardly counts as a miracle, baby.”

“It is to me.”

The look Tony gives him right there sucks the breath right out of Steve’s lungs. It’s a soulful mixture of love and pain which Steve understands all too well.

“That’s because you’re easy to please, my love.”

“I think we both know that’s bull.”

“Oh yeah? Then how come everything I do makes you happy?”

Tony has crossed his arms and straightened his legs. He’s looking at Steve with eyes full of resolve and a question that is eating him alive. 

“Because it’s YOU Tony.”

But instead of smiling like Steve expects, Tony doesn’t concede. 

“What does that mean? What makes me the holy exception to Steve Roger’s temper?”

There’s something hiding in Tony’s eyes… something Steve cannot pinpoint. It’s important, that’s obvious if Tony is taking such a stance, but it’s unknown. 

“Because you’re perfect!” He blurts out. 

Tony’s eyes lift to the ceiling as he yells “No one’s perfect Steve!”

“That’s not what I mean! Look, I know I have a temper and I know I’m stubborn as hell, but everything about you makes me feel better. I don’t know what it is about you, but there’s something… like the way you know how to give me space when I’m having a bad day! Or the way you always manage to fix everything… like remember last week when we went to the park and some asshole dumped all his fucking soda on me? I was about to punch the guy and you just… you just laughed and bought a water bottle and helped me clean up. I don’t know what it is about you Tony but you just… you’re perfect for me baby.”

The change is instantaneous, like gravity guiding an apple into the ground. One moment Tony is tense and grave and the next he is not. He looks at Steve in wonderment… in awe, and allows himself to smile sheepishly at his lover. He rushes closer to Steve’s large frame and allows himself to get lost in the infinite warmth of his love. 

“I love you too you grouch.”

***

_The body found in September changes everything._

_It’s found on a chilly morning by a runner at a local public park. The body is far too lacerated to identify at first, but based on the amount of blood at the crime scene… it’s obvious the victim was intentionally bled out._

_It takes a while, longer than with any of the other victims but eventually they do identify the body as belonging to Dr. Donald Blake, an internist._

_Investigators deem it an act of personal revenge… finally a lead._

_Had the other bodies been merely a practice run? Had Dr. Blake always been the target?_

_There’s something in the sheer brutality of the cuts (the deep slices, the severed bones), that give investigators the distinct impression that this was very, very personal._

***

It starts out as nothing.

A bump here, a dropped mug there. But two weeks later it becomes dropped plates, glasses… hand cream. 

“When the hell did I get so clumsy?!” Tony always asks, angry at himself while he cleans whatever mess he’s made. 

Exhaustion comes next; he’s hard to wake up in the mornings and he can barely make it through the day without taking two naps before it’s even nighttime. The first few weeks they assume Tony must be coming down with something…weeks pass…more things drop from Tony’s clenched hands. 

After five straight weeks, Steve books Tony an appointment to see a doctor. Dr. Donald Blake comes highly recommended, he’s a good internist or so Steve’s research says. He bundles Tony up on a cold morning and drags his grumpy ass all the way to the hospital. Dr. Blake, it turns out, is tall, broad and endlessly charming. He’s able to immediately put Tony at ease. They’ll order a couple of brain scans and some bloodwork, do a thorough check up. 

They spend that Christmas pretending for each other. Steve (always watchful, always present) pretends to be calmer than his nature, while Tony (always joyful, never complaining) pretends not to care about the tests. He jokes through the blood draws, pretends to forget the date of his MRI and giggles as he’s pulled into the vortex of the enormous machine. 

Two days later, it’s Christmas and they spend the day pretending not to worry while never straying further than an inch from each other. Instead of words they exchange kisses and warm caresses. Time alone means time to think, so emptiness becomes the enemy. They drag each other everywhere, talk to each other constantly, watch anything and listen to everything. They are beneath each other’s skin more than ever before, and it never truly stops even after Dr. Blake calls on December the 27th to inform them that all of Tony’s tests came back fine. 

“But why am I still dropping things?”

“It’s probably neurological but it’s not due to either a tumour nor any anomaly in your blood. We can experiment with different treatments and see which works best for you Mr. Stark.”

They thank Dr. Blake with the relief of the saved. They kiss and touch and rejoice with the knowledge that whatever Tony has, is manageable and not a death sentence. 

***

_They manage to keep some details away from the press._

_It’s not a serial killer. It’s all gang crime related. Move along folks, nothing to see here…_

_Another body surfaces in November. It’s sporadic but precise._

_“This wasn’t personal.” A detective declares._

_But any moron can see that. It’s such a clean kill the NYPD isn’t sure whether it’s even the Avenger’s work._

***

After New Year’s they fall into a new pattern. 

Tony needs more help than before, especially when doing anything that requires strength in his hands. Like a warden, Steve is ever vigilant. He buys a slip mat for their bathroom, installs a handrail just in case and listens in carefully every morning for signs that Tony might have slipped in the tub. When breakfast time arrives, Tony minds the stove while Steve chops… same for lunch… same for dinner. 

Steve grows used to the sound of cracked porcelain (they switch to metal and plastic), used to the midday naps (they make Tony even sweeter than he thought possible), used to the bouts of dizziness. 

He grows used to the days when Tony curls up on the floor and cries because he broke yet another thing. He grows used to the way Tony fits in the curve of his neck and the taste of his frustrated tears. 

Still… Tony never complains. 

Steve is proud of himself throughout it all. Not once is he short with his love… or angry… or annoyed.

“I’m sorry to be putting you through this.” Tony sometimes whispers to him. 

“I love you more and more every day, baby. I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”

And he’s not lying, Steve truly feels at peace. It’s as if his sanctuary continues to drift further away from the rage that infects the outside world. With Tony, Steve is at his best. Outside, Steve could not be worse. 

“Is it me, or is that cashier looking at us kinda spooked?” Tony’s hand is tightly locked around Steve’s left bicep. It’s rare for them both to be going to the grocery store, but Tony insisted. 

“I might have given her a hard time last time I was here.”

“Steve.” 

One word (Steve has learned) can sometimes carry a full reproach. 

“She rang an item three times last time. Had to call her manager to refund me.”

Tony’s eyes are sweet and kind while he looks at Steve with a profound understanding of his nature. 

“Just try to be nicer to her this time baby.”

A kiss on Tony’s forehead is Steve’s only reply. He enjoys the warmth of the skin against his lips and breathes in the smell of lotion. 

This time, he is indeed kinder to the spooked cashier… Tony brings it out in him. 

Weeks pass, yet the realization that Dr. Blake may have been wrong is slow coming. Not because they don’t see it, live with it, adapt to it everyday… but rather because the thought that something might actually be wrong is too great to accept. It’s not until Tony (casually) mentions it one day while eating dinner, that Steve allows himself to think about it. 

“Let’s get a second opinion then.”

The second opinion comes in the form of Dr. Bruce Banner, who with the help of a local Neurosurgeon, spots what no one else has discovered before.

“It’s a tumour, but we don’t believe it’s cancerous.”

“A tumour?”

“It’s actually quite small and very embedded in the brain tissue so it’s not surprising that it took so long to find.”

Dr. Banner gives them theories and options and treatments. Tony listens carefully, nods and asks questions. He discusses medications, monitoring schedules and even diets. And while Tony looks calmer the longer they’re there…

Steve is unable to hear anything other than the sound of his own heartbeat banging inside his ears. 

***

_The key to the whole case is the Doctor._

_With this in mind the NYPD assigns a taskforce to investigate the Avenger killings. The media claims it’s long overdue and is only being done now because it’s an election year for the Mayor._

_A few others… the ones who’ve been around a while have a different take on it. For perhaps the killer may be creeping too close to some of the bosses in the gambling community. Maybe even enough to pressure the Mayor into action._

_It’s in the creation of this taskforce that Detective Barnes comes into the case. It’s a great opportunity for him, he’s thankful for the post… but it also unsettles him. The names of the Avenger’s victims on the whiteboard of the taskforce meeting room are all too familiar._

***

Gentle fingers stroke patterns across the naked expanse of Steve’s back. Tony’s fingers run smoothly across the skin, mischievous yet comforting. 

The bittersweet diagnosis brought his Tony back to him. As if the monster having a name has somehow powered Tony up for a fight. He laughs like he used to, teases Steve like he used to, fucks him like he used to. No longer are they holding each other as if tomorrow brings nothing but darkness. Instead, Tony is back to blowing raspberries on Steve’s stomach just because it makes him laugh.

Tony is happy again. 

Despite the daily medication. Despite the plastic mugs that sometimes clatter on the floor. Despite the bruises on his arms from when he misjudges a distance and hits himself against a door frame… he’s happy. 

But inside… Steve is screaming. 

The all consuming rage is back. Like an itching, horrible sunburn. Tony (as always) soothes the symptoms with his sweetness and love, but elsewhere… outside… Steve is losing control.

“Do you think? I mean, there’s no way to be sure, but... do you think maybe this is all Howard’s fault?”

“What’s the bastard’s fault?” 

Tony’s fingers continue their rhythmic dance, ignoring the way the muscles beneath them have gone taut. 

“It’s just that… well… I mean, I was young so I don’t remember exactly y’know? But I remember he hit me hard on the head a couple of times while drunk. He knocked me out once… maybe twice, I think… and Dr. Banner said the tumour’s been there for a while, maybe since childhood and my specific type can be associated to a bad enough brain injury.” 

Tony’s old man had been almost as bad as Steve’s. It’s one of the many things they share in common so it’s not surprising to hear it. 

“Do you remember how hard he hit you?”

Steve has turned his head to look at his love and Tony knows just by seeing his face that Steve will not accept bullshit. 

“He knocked me out and I remember having trouble remembering stuff after that.” 

“Just with remembering?”

Steve already knows the answer, he just needs Tony to say it out loud. 

“No… headaches, problems with my vision, sensitivity to light… I think I even went a little deaf in one ear for a while.”

There’s no pity in Steve’s eyes, nothing but the profound shared understanding of the damned. 

“Yeah sweetheart, I think the fucker might be to blame for all this.”

Tony exhales. Bitter acceptance in a puff of air that says ‘of course, why wouldn’t it be?’ without words. Suddenly exhausted, he lays down next to Steve and allows himself to suckle on the comfort that his lover freely offers in his arms. 

“No one will ever hurt you again baby.” Steve whispers as he feels Tony’s tears smearing on his neck. 

“I know. Because I have you.”

The conviction in Tony’s voice is as true as steel, a principle from which Tony has built his whole life around. 

“That’s right, and I’m never gonna let anyone harm you again.”

But someone had harmed Tony. A doctor they’d both trusted had harmed them both with his shoddy knowledge and misdiagnosis. He’d told them it wasn’t a tumour, told them it was nothing to worry about. Dr. Blake had taken precious treatment months away from them and how was he paying for it? By galivanting around New York city like a fucking gigolo with his sleazy charm and steroid pumped body. 

Worse still… he could continue hurting others without any kind of repercussion. 

Steve could sue Dr. Blake, yes. But what good would that do? He’d just get a slap on the wrist and be on his merry way, free to hurt others like his Tony. No…Steve has to do something about that. 

Something finite. 

***

_Despite what the public would like to believe, the continued support of a taskforce created to find a serial killer, is in fact very dependent on the killer._

_Profilers believe that the Avenger is on an upward spiral. He’s shown the police what he can do, he obviously wants to be seen. It’s prognosticated that his activity will only increase as the months go by, so resources are spent investigating his victims and studying the forensic evidence. But with most of them being known criminals it’s hard to find someone who **didn’t** want them dead. _

_As ambiguity plagues the taskforce, their saving grace falls sorely on the Doctor. They investigate his past with razor sharp focus, look into old girlfriends, family history and as much patient history as they can get their hands on._

_Unfortunately for them, Dr. Blake had quite a tail to step on._

_Not only did he leave Norway ten years ago due to a scandal that involved a patient’s wife (quite the affair), but the charming doctor appeared to have a pact with chaos. He was big in the party scene, was known in almost every imaginable circle of New York and had almost as many enemies as the known criminals._

_His sister in Norway even admitted to Detective Barnes (on a recorded Skype call no less), that had she known someone wanted her half brother dead, she would have happily provided a donation to the killer herself._

_So all in all, Dr. Blake’s brutal killing proves to be less of a case cracker as had been hoped._

_  
Worse still, as October rolls into November and then December, no bodies that can be associated to the Avenger are found. The taskforce’s worse nightmare becomes a reality… they have a cold case serial killer on their hands._

_By late December, Detective Barnes has already resigned himself to the knowledge that the taskforce’s days are numbered._

***

“Merry Christmas!”

It’s nearly 9pm on a Thursday in what must be the coldest September on record in New York City, so Steve is understandably confused by the greeting. 

“What?”

“I know it’s super early but I didn’t want to wait till December so, here, open this.”

It’s been a long night already, an exciting one certainly but now that the adrenaline is subsiding, Steve feels mostly just exhausted. 

“You got me a present?”

He takes in the way Tony’s eyes are sparkling with excitement. He’s been doing much better lately under the new treatment Dr. Banner has him on and it shows… God does it show. Tony is glowing with energy. 

“It’s just a little thing but we always pass by it on our walks and it ALWAYS catches your attention so I thought, why not?”

Steve takes the gold coloured envelope being held out to him. It’s open so he just has to slide his fingers inside (like he slid them inside Dr. Blake’s chest cavity) and pull out the paper. He first notes how exquisite the print is, how delicate and smooth. 

  
“Vitruvian Studio?”

  
“It’s a gift certificate for their sculpting class. I know you don’t draw anymore but you always look so interested in the sculptures whenever we walk by there, and baby you’re so good with your hands, so I took a chance…”

He contemplates the paper for a bit, reads the wording and the name of the class. He’s never really thought about it, sure he always stops to admire the pieces on the studio window but he’s never thought about trying it himself. For him, art has always been a necessity, a means to a career. He was good at structural drawing so he went to school for architecture but he never thought about it as a fun activity. 

“But why sculpting?”

Tony’s palm slides in to fill Steve’s left hand, soft and warm against his chilled fingers. He’d opted for leaving the house gloveless so as to make it easier when he came back home, but now his fingers are numb.

“Because these hands were made for something other than punching.”

It’s ironic that despite not having a clue as to what Steve just came home from doing, Tony is still able to gut him with just words. 

“I use them to touch you all the time, and chopping food too. Hell, I even use them for showering.” 

“Smartass.”

They grin at each other, mirror expressions of love. They’re both good at this, at speaking without words. Steve gets what Tony is trying to tell him, that he’s going to be ok so it’s ok for Steve to go and have a hobby. That having an outlet for all this rage that doesn’t involve violence will benefit him. 

But Tony doesn’t know about Steve’s newfound dark little hobby. He doesn’t know that Steve has learned how much pressure it takes to push a knife through a human ribcage, doesn’t know how good Steve has gotten at this. 

“Will you give the class a try? For me?”

“Sure baby, it’ll be fun.”

Tony’s lips feel warm and alive. His mouth is soft and moist and everything Steve wants in this world. His arms are strong enough to hold onto Steve, yet faulty because sometimes they do unclench despite their owner’s will. 

Steve is no fool, he knows his new little hobby has to come to an end. Tonight he completed what he set out to do, so maybe it is time for a change… 

As the weather turns colder and the holiday season startles itself awake, they come up with the idea of holding a Christmas dinner. Steve can taste Tony’s excitement on his skin and wonders at the change that one year can make. Just a year ago they’d spent Christmas huddled in a cocoon of sanctuary as the uncertainty of Tony’s condition ate them alive. This year however, things could not be any more different. 

Despite Steve’s original reservations, sculpting is the relief he’s always sought but never found. He loves the way his hands slide across the clay, moulding it into anything he wants. The texture of it can be almost as slippery as the blood he never got to touch (he couldn’t risk leaving a fingerprint), and the smooth give of his blade sinking into the clay is even more satisfying than the real thing. 

Clay soothes the rage…

Who would have thought?

When Christmas Eve arrives, Steve fears Tony might just combust with excitement. They’ve invited a small group, just five friends but the food has been expertly catered and their home, professionally decorated because Tony refuses to go near the tree ornaments in fear that he’ll break one. All the preparation has created a frenzy of excitement that reminds Steve of a Christmas movie.

Bucky Barnes is the last to confirm and the first to arrive. He shows up, tired looking but happy and proceeds to utter a litany of apologies for the last thirteen months. 

“Fucking Avenger serial killer asshole’s had me running circles all over New York for shit.”

“Yeah, I heard the trail had gone cold, but it’s so exciting that you were a part of it!” In reality Tony had hardly really heard anything about it, not because it hadn’t been on the news but because he’d simply not cared enough to go hunting for the story. The height of the Avenger killer fever had coincided with the worst of Tony’s illness so he’d mostly been too preoccupied to give anything else much thought. 

“Was less exciting and more frustrating than anything. But enough about me, how’re you feeling Tones?”

Steve keeps a lazy ear on their conversation. He’d never worried about being found out, after all, how many years have him and Bucky spent fake-planning the perfect murder? They’ve been doing that for fun since before Bucky went into the Police Academy. Then as he ascended through the ranks, the old conversation turned more and more informative as Bucky learned more and honed his investigative craft. For Bucky it’d always been a fun training exercise with his lifelong friend but for Steve, it’d proven to be a great guide. 

As more guests arrive and drinks start flowing, Bucky and Steve find themselves with just each other for company on the couch. The professionally placed Christmas lights give off a lovely gleam that feels nostalgic, even if neither of them ever had anything like this when they were kids. 

“SO! Stevie, are you finally going to tell me what’s been keeping you so busy you don’t even have time to text me?”

“Actually Buck… I’m learning sculpting.”


End file.
